The full moon last night was as bright as daylight and the deer were out in the fields. What was this moon asking of me? The fullness of it pulled at my heart and I felt relief this morning when it started to wane again. I called her down and went out to gather some herbs: chamomile and yarrow, red clover and dandelion root, small red radishes, what wanted to come to me. I listened. The crickets are singing and the second nest of baby robins has flown.

With this full moon in Aquarius, the mental was under scrutiny and I felt a strange leap in my own maturity. How do we perceive the world and how much of this is a result of our inner tuning? Our vision depends heavily on our inner states. I was reminded yesterday when I was back in Montreal, standing on the same street as a month ago, noticing how everything looked smaller and greener, less grim and overpowering; a city is just a city, and I can choose to see the trees. It’s as if, with the help of the plants, I can see ever more clearly.

I woke up to the thought that the early summer apples that were falling wanted to be made into vinegar to bring me health through the end of this season. The last few weeks of healing from shingles, and then from a cold, were low in energy and I got caught up in feeling like I would never be healthy again. Yet here I am feeling able to write and work.

This moon is asking me to care for myself. Taking care of myself means to go slow, to be patient with my progress and movements. I don’t have to get things right the first time. I may need to start over.

Taking care of myself: what else does this entail?

Taking care of my body. Needing my lymph to flow – self-massage, body oiling, energy yoga, face yoga, warm water, cold water, walking, eating what my body tells me it needs, avoiding what it tells me is not needed or excessive (sugar, alcohol). How do I pay attention to these signals? I become more aware of them as I take the time to breath and tune into my body. I make time for ritual. I light a fire.

Taking care of my speech and language. Taking care of my words as they are in my head and as they come out of my mouth. Avoiding sarcasm, which cuts into my ability to speak my truth. Avoiding all language that speaks against myself and others.

Taking care not to judge. Not judging means not having expectations of how people or things should be. I accept myself and others unconditionally.

Taking care of myself means being tender with myself. If sadness is a signal to be tender with myself, illness is a sign to be tender with the body. Illness is a sign that I need to up the self-care, to be ever more gentle with myself when the world feels harsh. I may need to sleep and rest more.

Taking care of myself means taking care to help others, which makes me feel good about myself. Taking the time to do good deeds, however small, like making coffee for my family when I wake up or cooking something without being asked. Thinking of what another person would want me to do for them instead of just doing what I want to do. Imagining everyone around me fulfilled and happy.

I think the ultimate self-care practice is gratefulness: I am grateful for my genius, that kind friend who spurs my words along and inspires me daily. I am grateful for all I am given, all that I can give. Taking care of myself means taking the time to feel this gratefulness in my spirit, no matter what the world is presenting me with.

I take care of myself by giving myself opportunities to express myself that feel right, with the right people, and not comparing myself to others. This self-expression affords me the chance to participate in reflection: I am mirroring you mirroring me.

As we wind down for the summer, we can watch the greens turn to gold and consider how our self-expression serves us. What do you want to say? I’d love to talk to you about it! Sign up for a free conversation with me on how working with the plants can help you express yourself. I have two longer-term coaching programs to talk to you about, or if you’d like to learn how to make a flower essence, I’d love to teach you how. These late summer days are just calling to distill some of the wisdom of the flowers.

Lots of love,

Amy